Was it worth it?
by qwertysweetea
Summary: I tried to write a 'Jones visiting Dan in the hospital' fic and it turned into an angsty mess... so here you go.


**Warning:** Attempted suicide, implied past drug use

Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own Nathan Barley or any characters, places or plots associated with Charlie Brooker and Chris Morris, or BBC Channel 4. No profit is made from the writing for this fanfiction!

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"Was it worth it?" He could hear him say. His lips hadn't moved but they didn't need to. The eyes, the way his eyebrows creased in the middle, the turned-down corners of his lips all told Dan that is what he was saying.

Things had been rough when he'd first started to regain a sense of the world around him. He'd expected to be filled with regret for his actions and the effect they would have had on those around him, namely his little sister. And that was the case for a short while… like right up until the door had swung open to her screeching voice followed by the very one that had spurred the impulsive leap from the first floor window to begin with, and the ensuing argument about TV royalties.

The regret had abandoned him all together after that, and weeks of only that. Maybe if he'd had time to think it through he might have given it a little more force, made a real effort at breaking his neck, he thought until the door had opened one day to nothing but soft footsteps.

They, whoever they were, had walked out making no other sound. It happened for a while, leaving him to ponder and affectively distracting him from the TV contract drama he wasn't completely sure they weren't leaving unmentioned until the visits.

Footsteps in, creak of the chair beside his bed, silence, footsteps out. Sometimes mumbling outside the door not quite load enough to completely comprehend, other times complete silence.

It never once crossed his mind that it would be Jones. Jones wasn't able to stay quiet for the life of him, sitting still would have been enough of a task.

Maybe Claire had managed to sneak in visits without the moron. That'd make more sense. Maybe she'd managed to ditch him all together? A bit of wishful thinking there Dan, he had quipped to himself quickly, before the thought managed to turn into a flittering of hope that would surely disappoint him later.

And he would have been, he had come to realise, a few days later when the room filled with Claire's insistent voice. Something about 'not discussing it now'.

She always said that, right before… yeah, there it was. That same almost nasally drawl so thick with stupidity he was scared getting too close would cause it to dip off onto him. Another headache for a visit. Concern for his wellbeing lost somewhere amongst the flying insults.

He almost wished he had the strength to throw himself out of this window too. Then: "Right, get out."

That… was new.

When there was no reply he asserted the demand, and the door opened with a gentle creak "I said get out. Take your bitching somewhere away from him and away from me. Now."

"You can't just throw me out!"

"Yeah? Watch me."

"Jones!"

The door slammed, and his breath rattled for a little, in the way it always did after a long set. Exhaustion, less physical more emotional, and the chair creaked in its usual fashion. That's when the hand pressed into his, and he finally found the motivation to open his eyes.

It could have been a week, maybe two for Jones to bring himself across that barrier. Why, Dan was sure he knew. He must have been angry with him. Felling abandoned, betrayed, maybe just little bit useless which was making him all the angrier. He wouldn't have wanted to hold Dan's hand, being in the same room as him was probably hard enough to swallow the first few times.

But he was here now; hand in his, all those looks and questions crashing across his face.

Was it worth it? but that wasn't it at all. Had it been worth the pain, had it been worth his job… all mundane, answerable questions neither of them needed to sit through. These questions were Jones'. Only his. Utterly selfish but impassable.

Had it been worth the friendship? Now that was it.

Was it worth his pain – sat in the house, on his own, unable to drown out any ounce of responsibility no matter how load he turned up the music, no matter how much he drank? Taking pill after pill until his mind was mush and the crash too heavy to think, dream, to attempt to understand?

"Did you not think of me?" Again, his lips didn't move but he could hear so clearly Jones voice slurring with the fatigue that was etched under his eyes. Pure, shameless selfishness and yet somehow more meaningful and warming than any other visitor that he'd had.

It was like he had made himself transparent somehow, unable or perhaps just unwilling to use his own voice. Maybe, Dan thought, Jones simply thought Dan wasn't worth it any more. He wouldn't blame him, not really.

He'd faded out somewhere amongst those thoughts, and woke up with hand laying limp and abandoned on top of the sheets. He grabbed at the air.

"Jones?" It was barely audible, broken and raw; the first time he had spoken since he'd woken up. A croak more than a word, and yet it was not entirely that which made it so. "Jones…" He repeated, no clearer than the first time. There was no reply.

Maybe he'd given up looking for an answer from Dan. He'd already waited long enough, and now he was capable of replying he had simply stared back at him. Nothing to say. Jones had deserved better than that and he probably knew it, or at least realised it moment Dan's eyes shut in place of his mouth opening.

He hadn't noticed the tears until they begun to catch uncomfortably in the fold of his neck.

"Hey. Hey Dan, come on. What's wrong?" A voice said from beside him, soft but urgent. Jones hand was back on his. Hot and tight…. Ridiculously tight, like he was trying to stop him from falling away. "Come on, talk to me. What do you need? Morphine?"

He wanted to say how the guilt of the pain he had caused him, coupled with the knowledge of all his ignorance had caused him to lose in Jones, had become too much for him to bare. He wanted to, he tried but it had all come out as some blubbering mess. He couldn't find it in himself to be ashamed of how pathetic and childlike it all sounded. It didn't matter, ultimately. Jones seemed to understand.

Somehow, and without any thought behind it, Dan's fist had closed around the neck of Jones shirt and Jones allowed himself to be pulled into an awkward half-hug, hunched over enough for Dan to bury his face into Jones' chest all while repeating the same thoughts over and over like he was preaching to himself until he had the strength to really believe it: Jones was here, Jones cared. He could have walked away but he hadn't. Jones was here.

"I just went to get coffee, you silly bugger." He chuckled affectionately.

Jones tried to shift his arms, tentatively cupping the back of Dan's head without yanking on any of the tubes and wires attached him to rather important looking machines he didn't understand the purpose of. He danced his fingers though his hair smoothly until he felt the grip loosen on his shirt, and then carried on a little longer anyway.

All the while his other hand remained in Dan's grip, pulsing as he relaxed and then tightening again as though he feared Jones would consider pulling away.

"It's the first time I've seen you in weeks and I already don't know what I'm going to do when you go."

"Alright, don't make it gay." He laughed back.

Dan laughed at that, weak but wholeheartedly. Had his eyes not been clamped tightly against the pain it caused in his chest he would have seen the light that it had brought to Jones eyes.

He didn't think he would be able to feel anything that wasn't shame or angst now, but here he was laughing with Jones like they had back when they'd first met – when they were both too ducked up to realise that unhappiness existed. Now neither of them were fucked up, and he had the chance to be but chose not to. For Dan. For himself. There was something quite beautiful in that.

"I haven't heard that in a long time."

"Come on." He sighed softly "I laugh all the time." It was a blatant, needless lie.

"But not you laugh." Jones smiled back, the joy cracking onto his face.

"Am I going to be okay? Jones… be honest with me."

He had never been good at that when it came to Dan; he'd never quite been able to suppress the stream of lies that accompanied those types of questions.

He took a moment, and a shaky breath at that, and Dan knew that whatever he was going to say was too built up to be a lie.

"Na mate… You're legs broken, and your shoulder, and you're gonna hate me for not letting you OD. You've got no job, the idiots are still gonna be around 'cus there ain't nowhere we can go to escape 'em, but I quit the pills and coke so you don't have to face it alone."

He was overcome with relief; wave after wave of it so overbearing that it knocked away the gentle hums and beeps of the hospital equipment because speculating was one thing, building himself up for the fall really… but hearing it from Jones mouth was another. Because he knew when he was lying so well, and this time he wasn't.

He was going to be there.

The look of panic sprung onto Jones' face and he gripped his hand all the harder was Dan's chest started convulsing with tears again, face contorted with the pain of the movement. "Ah fuck mate. I'm sorry. I'm no good with all of this. Please don't… Oh, fuck me. Dan, come on. It's going to be fine. What do I know? I'm just a junky DJ. I don't know shit."

"Is it worth it Jones?" He couldn't help but choke out. "Is it really worth it?"

Was it really going to be worth the screaming matches over the medication, and the hate he was going to suffer for not allowing him to overdose on painkillers? The months he was going to have to support him 'til he was ready to go out looking for a job? Was it really worth giving up the partying, the alcohol… the pills?

Jones smiled softly, squeezing his hand back hard. "Always mate."

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Thanks for reading!


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